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Kelly Salasin–a Jersey girl in the Green Mountains

Tag Archives: death

Last night I attended a benefit concert, thinking that cello and piano and poetry would soothe my weary soul from the events of the past month–from my son’s diving accident, to my best friend’s car accident, to the tragedy in Brattleboro.

I had been writing incessantly for over a week since the shooting at the Co-op, and with my latest post, I felt that I might be finished.  Instead, I found my anguish stirred rather than soothed by last night’s performance, particularly when the poetry of the Romanian poet Eminescu was read.

detail, Dore, visipix.com

Unto the Star

‘Tis such a long way to the star
Rising above our shore
It took its light to come so far
Thousands of years and more.

It may have long died on its way
Into the distant blue
And only now appears its ray
To shine for us as true.

We see its icon slowly rise
And climb the canopy;
It lived when still unknown to eyes,
We see what ceased to be.

And so it is when yearning love
Dies into depth of night:
Extinct its flame, still glows above
And haunts us with its light.

~Mihai Eminescu (1850-1889)/translated by Adrian Sahlean

Kelly Salasin, August 20, 2011

(To see the full collection of posts and comments on BFC Tragedy, click here.)

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Halloween brings thoughts

of decay

and the permission to eat

chocolate.

Neringa ripples toward me

as I approach down the slope

of wet leaves.

Immediately,

I want to consumate our movement–

drink her up,

have her take

me.

Neither will do,

so I continue up the road

on this Hallow’s Eve Day,

sensing the transparency

of the worlds

in my bones.

The air mysteriously moves

through

me,

mocking the illusion of

separation.

With eyes no longer

drawn up

by Autumn’s fiery reds,

my gaze

sinks

to the earth–

to her rich

colors of

death.

I float to

the place and  beauty

of my own

mother’s

passing

until I discover a half-dozen

trees

missing

from the banks

of the pond–

beavers,

hired

to clear my view.

Turning toward home,

I find four trunks

huddled together,

branches wrapped around

each other’s

back,

bare–

except for lichen,

a soft, sickly green

creeping up each body,

dangling

from each limb.

On this dark day of souls

I wonder~

Does the ghost of sweet

Jesse

roam

these

hills

like me?

Kelly Salasin, Oct. 31, 2009



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